A beautiful murder
by C.Rara
Summary: The wizarding world condemned her as a maniac, a murderer. Those philistines didn't see the captivating beauty of her art. Death, so lovelier than life for those mudbloods, would save them. Their screams sang to the angels.


**Authors Note: **As some of you may know, I never write in this style, ever. I can only ever do humour, but I wrote this in one of my notebooks which I rediscovered a few days ago, and thought that I might as well post it. I don't know how great it is, so reviews would be much adored.

By the way, I'm JK Rowling, and I am making thousands of pounds from this story, that is why i'm not working my ass off every day of every week so that I have enough money for Christmas (I can't wait until Christmas... I actually can't!)

**A beautiful murder**

_The mudblood-girl's eyes were pleading, nay, begging for mercy.  
But yours are glinting maliciously, as you plunge the cold, unforgiving steel deeper and deeper into her chest, watching intently as she struggles in vain against your perfectly cast binding spell. She is finding it harder to breathe, and tear after tear streams down her pretty face, almost scolding your hand as they touch you. You like it when they cry; it reminds you of a waterfall. A beautiful waterfall. _

_You slowly, painfully drag the blade out of her bruised and quivering body. It is now stained crimson.  
Blood; it has always intrigued you for some reason, the colour, the passion, the intense ferocity of it. It is enthralling. It is captivating. It is beautiful._

_Ephemerally, the girl looks hopeful. She thinks you have decided to stop and free her, but in a way, you are freeing her, and she'll see it your way eventually. Shaking your head, you smile slightly at the thought of how happy she'll be when this is over, and the satisfaction you'll get, knowing the goodness you have done. The mudblood looks terrified; this has taken longer than you thought, you were just enthralled by the thrill of it all, so you send the blade crashing down straight into her neck, just the once. That is all it takes. _

_You sigh and watch as the blood gushes out of her. The girl is dead, surrounded by a crimson sea. You wish you had thought to bring a camera. _

_It is such a beautiful murder._

_A Beautiful murder._

_Beautiful. _

Bellatrix Lestrange had once been described a beautiful, many, many years ago, and so she had been. A breathtaking beauty, the eldest of all the children.

No longer was she beautiful. Azkaban had seen to that. They say that Azkaban 'unhinged her.' Perhaps it is true, but she has never felt so alive since her escape. But she was no longer described as beautiful.

She was mental. Evil. As feared by the wizarding world as her master.

The other death eaters envied her. The Order of the Phoenix hater her. Her own sisters feared her.  
She was the world renowned bitch.

It is true. No-one can deny it to be anything but.  
However one thing that nobody ever picks up on, the thing that is never mentioned, what nobody sees; Bella was an artist. A murderer, yes, but an artist.

Murderer.

Death.

Death, it was such a pretty, pretty, pretty thing, if you knew how to make it so. You had to pick a person-Oh! The adrenaline rush. The power! Who to live, who to die?-but it had to be a perfect killing. It had to be a beautiful death. That was what the other death eaters didn't comprehend, and what set Bella apart from the rest. A simple curse would suffice, of course it would, but where was the excitement? Where was the intensity?  
So as to who you pick out. Well, Bella thinks carefully and arrives at her decision after much deliberation. She chooses the interesting one, the one who'll make such a pretty picture.

There was another question to be answered; what tool? As well as the medium, the artist must always consider the instrument they will use. There is Bella's wand obviously, and the various spells her master has taught her. Avada Kedavra. Imperio. Crucio. Crucio. Crucio. She likes the way in rolls of one's tongue. The cruciatus curse; it was a spectacular artwork in and of itself. Their pitiful screams sounded out like a church choir singing to the heavens, a dozen chimes, ringing bells.  
Their pleading and their crying, it was a lullaby.  
It was beautiful.

You had to lift the curse at exactly the right moment. Stopping too soon or to late could ruin the entire masterpiece, Bella had made that mistake with the Longbottoms' and she wouldn't make it again.

Silently, unable to form words due to their state, they communicated with their eyes. Or rather their tears. Bella understood, the silvery tear gracefully gliding down their cheeks begged for the freedom they were unable to ask for.  
They didn't understand. Bella was setting them free. Filthy mudbloods like them shouldn't be allowed to live. Why should they? They who are so tainted, so impure, so vile. Should they be forced to walk the world with such pathetic lives, which she could so easily end?  
But she couldn't let them die like that, with the ghastly blood such as they had still flowing through their broken body. So Bella drained them out. Took away their dirty blood. Freeing them of the shame.

Tears continue to fall out of the mudbloods eyes as she is repeatedly stabbed by that cruel metal. They fall to the floor, they mix with the blood that she is now lying in. So pale. She contrasts violently with the crimson pool. A drowning angel. Bella likes that idea and soon the mudblood girl has her own bloody halo.

Unlike what many people assume, Bella imagines in detail the pain this little mudblood girl must be feeling as her insides spill across the floor. It gives her sadistic satisfaction to contemplate the extent of the hurting. It makes her feel powerful. It makes her feel invigorated. It makes her feel beautiful.

Finally, after many hours, the mudblood is dead. All of her blood spilt. Bella's places her wand against the burning tattoo on her forearm, and sends for her master to come see. She flourishes at his approval. Don't be fooled, she doesn't love her master. She obeys him, she adores him and her devotion cannot be matched by any other person, but she does not love him. He owns her mind, he owns her soul. But her husband and her sisters own her heart. Forever.

It is time for Bella to leave, the Aurors will be at the scene so very soon. But she must look at her masterpiece one more time. It is beautiful .  
The eyes are no longer crying, but a dull grey. She wonders what colour they were before, but finds she cannot remember. It doesn't matter. She has never looked so beautiful. So very, very beautiful. Without the shame of her parentage lying heavy on her shoulders, without the guilt of contaminating the world with her unclean, polluted blood. She was such a pretty, pretty mudblood. Bella has saved her from a terrible life.  
She must leave. The Aurors will come. Part of her wished she could stay, just to witness the looks on their faces as they see her beautiful creation. But she knows they won't see it for what it is-art. It'll be 'monstrous' a 'brutal killing' just like all of her previous 'heinous crimes.' They won't see it as beautiful.

But it is. Oh it is.

It is a beautiful murder.

-x-

**Hope it didn't freak you out too much. Actually, it probably didn't freak you out at all. It is terrible, I know. Sorry for inflicting it upon the world, but I've just spent almost an hour writing it, so it is damn well going up on my account. So ... nyeeeah! **

**I know, I know. I'm so mature. I scare myself when I think of how grown-up and responsible I am. For instance, right this second as I am typing this, I am getting all of my homework out of the way and tidying my bedroom and the bathroom so as to be a helpful member of this family and properly justify the £5 a week I (allegedly) receive. Yep. **


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